


If You're Lost, I'll Find You

by isonlyme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Affection, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Stranger Things 2, add as i go, hand holding, jealous eleven, my lack of rpg knowledge, platonic confusion, trick or treat freak episode, will being meek and wholesome, will lying about the bullies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isonlyme/pseuds/isonlyme
Summary: Halloween night. Where Mike takes Will back to his house.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, byler - Relationship, mileven - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all!!! I'm obsessed and decided to writer another ST fanfic I hope you like it!!! Let me know what you think :')

Will Byer’s shape disappeared around the corner of the driveway—the neon glow of orange lights had illuminated his brown hair from the bushes—with Mike expecting to see his face at his side moments after. Lucas and Dustin were already at the front porch—distinguishable by the tan jumpsuits—where an elderly couple was doling out treats into their pillowcases. 

“This is the family that gives out full candy bars. Stupid rich people, huh Will?” Mike laughed, gesturing toward the large house in front of him, but suddenly stopped when there was no reply—only the solitary sound of his shoes slapping the asphalt. Costumed children passed by, accompanied by adults or bored looking teens; their candy-filled jack-o-lanterns peered back at Mike with eerie grins. His stomach dropped with dread as though the ground had cracked open and sent him crashing below. _He was just there._

_“Will?”_ Mike spun back from the driveway into the street to where his friend used to be. The October winds picked up and blew strands of black hair across his face; he held it back with a shaky hand as he dashed frantically to the empty road—where he’d last caught sight of him. Mike closed his eyes, swallowing the crippling conclusion that they had lost Will _again_ to the Upside Down. Will, the quietest of the four, who never let anyone know what was bothering him. Will, trapped in a different dimension, a dark and ethereal world. Only this time, Mike knew with a twinge of guilt, they didn’t have a way of saving him. _Eleven was gone._

Mike staggered around for Will in the near darkness of the street, barely able to function—the chitter of children’s laughter in the distance set his nerves on edge. 

He shouted for Will again, heart pounding, almost stumbling over something on the ground. It was his video recorder left abandoned on its side, the exposed face blinking blood red in the night. _Still filming._ Mike reached for the recorder with caution before switching it off and storing it in the pillowcase. As it slid down into the bottom of the bag—the candy he’d collected pressed to the fabric at the weight—he heard a muffled cry from his left. 

The sidewalk was obscured by towering bushes, and as Mike ran closer he heard the voice again. Softer this time. 

He was there, curled up on the cement beside the dense leaves. For a moment Mike just watched his trembling form in a way he often heard Will describe: a fear so paralyzing he felt it deep in his bones, unable to react, rooting him to the cold earth. Will twitched with closed eyes that moved wildly under his lids, dry lips parting to speak. 

_“Mike, mike, mike,”_ His name was stuck in a weak murmur on Will’s tongue. At the sound of his broken voice he snapped out of shock. 

“Will! It’s me, I’m here,” Mike said, but there was no answer except for his shuddering voice calling Mike’s name from the other world.

“ _Will_? Please, it’s not real. Come on, wake up!” He yelled, more frantic this time. Just seeing his rigid body, lying on the concrete sent Mike into a horrible flash to nearly a year prior: seeing what they were told was Will’s body, presumed dead. Fished out of the lake. The point in time spent in disbelief that crossed Mike’s face then, the way his entire body plummeted at the absence of Will even though his lifeless form was only feet away. 

He knelt beside him, placing both hands on Will’s shoulders—Mike’s arm tensed as he could feel the spasms under his touch, the sheen of sweat pooling around the collar of his costume, and sickly pale face—until his eyes flung open. They glanced back and forth across Mike’s face in a bright brown mix of horror and relief: taking in his own wide eyes, the patches on his _Ghostbusters_ costume, the air that ruffled their hair. As Will took in his surroundings, the _right_ side of the world, he looked awful: his skin took on an unearthly pallor, eyes ringed with shadow and exhaustion, disoriented and off-balance. 

“Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Mike helped lift his shoulders off the ground until Will sat up on his own, blinking back with confusion. Finally he came to his senses. 

“Y-yeah, I’m okay,” He replied barely above a whisper. They stared at each other in stunned silence, neither one of them making a move to get up off the ground. 

_“Hey! Dustin they’re over here!”_ Lucas shouted from a few feet away. Will’s brown eyes were consumed in fear at this, holding his breath, and Mike already saw in them what he wouldn’t dare say: a quick, nervous glance at Lucas’s voice, the sudden shameful fall of his shoulders. 

Mike nodded with understanding, then realized his own arms were still holding onto Will. He stammered out an half-heard apology and hurried to return his hands to his sides, avoiding Will’s gaze.

Only seconds after this did Lucas and Dustin appear behind the bushes, jumping down to the sidewalk. Mike frowned at their pillowcases loaded with candy. 

They scrambled to talk over the other, in a jumbled mix of “ _We were going to wait, I swear, but-“_ and _“Where did Will go?”_

Mike helped him off the ground and turned to the boys. He slung an arm across Will’s neck to steady him but he could still feel the shivering. 

“He has a headache. I’m gonna take him back to my house,” Mike told them with distaste at their faces, blank and guilty. They had left before asking if he was okay, as if they didn’t care—surely Mike wasn’t the _only_ one of the three who noticed Will was gone. 

“Are you sure?” Dustin asked with a hesitant glance at Lucas, “We can all go back-“

“ _No_. It’s fine, I’ll take him. Come on, Will.” Mike huffed and turned them around. Lucas and Dustin protested at first, but soon their bickering over the situation faded as they walked in the quiet. Will had steadied his breathing, but still held onto Mike’s arm as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. Neither mentioned it. Their closeness made Mike uneasy, though he wasn’t entirely upset by Will’s side, hot and damp with sweat pressed to his own. He tried to justify the contact based on the fact that he could comfort Will, make him feel better; ever since he had met the boy years ago, Mike felt a pull towards him, always serving the protective need to be there for him. _But why did it feel so comfortable? Normal?_ All Mike had to do was fight the way his breath quickened as Will leaned into him, his smooth hair only inches away, steady his heart at the memory of that terrified stare. Masking something else, something fuzzy and foreign. _Friends do this, right?_ Mike thought with a ache for Eleven, the question alone brought him back to her wondering face in the basement, the pang of affection Mike felt for her.   


  
_What is ‘friend?’_

  
  
They were a few blocks from Mike’s house when a figure leapt from the dark into their path. Some teenager, painted and poorly bloodied, sticking a fake butcher’s knife at Will.

“Hey! It’s zombie boy!” The guy drawled in a creepy voice, obviously drunk. He was not at all scary to Mike but in the moment made Will nearly jump out of his skin. 

“What the hell, man? Piss off,” Mike shouted at the guy, shoving him away until he chuckled and swayed past them into the dark. 

As Will flinched back the two found themselves reaching for the other, clutching their hands together. Will grasped Mike’s hand tight and looked past with hollow eyes, reliving a memory. Will’s palm was hot and sweaty to the touch, but the fingers wrapped around his own made Mike stand still, unable to pull away. He brought his free hand to his face and realized he was blushing—flustered and burning despite the chill of night air. 

It took Will a few seconds to blink back to reality, glancing down at their intertwined fingers. He could see the color flood his cheeks as he slowly recoiled from Mike’s side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Will hurried to put significant distance between them, looking at the rows of houses with surprising earnest. 

“It’s okay, Will,” Mike found himself saying, but unable to understand why. _Was it okay?_ Mike slowed his steps to question the unsettling silence that fell, and why it felt so different seconds before—with him close. 

“Did you get a lot of candy?” he asked to fill the emptiness before realizing what a stupid question it was. Will smiled and shook his head, making his straight hair cover the warmth in his eyes. 

He held up his empty pillowcase. “..Not really.”

They shared a quiet laugh. “You can have some of mine,” Mike added as they went down the stairs behind his house to the back door. 

“Thanks,” Will got to the door before he did, his hand on the knob. Mike was so caught up in thought he didn’t realize where he was going until he bumped into his shoulder. His head snapped up just in time to see Will’s face, inches away, peering up at Mike with amusement and shaded apprehension. 

Mike stood with his feet brushing Will’s, forgetting personal space. An emotion twisted in his stomach that he couldn’t place, as though just breathing the same air was like honey being poured down his throat: sweet and hot and melting all his insides. 

“Sorry,” It was Mike’s turn to apologize. He shifted away and fumbled with detached movements, his thin fingers shaking as he tried to unlock the door. He felt Will’s perplexed stare burning into his back while they walked inside. 

Will made a beeline for the old couch and plopped down, the hidden signs of trauma beginning to seep through the cracks: as he sighed he made an effort to hold onto his legs with tightened fists, eyes on the coffee table littered in candy wrappers and figurines, seeing right through them. 

“Do you want to talk about it? What happened? Here, I know how you don’t like nougat,” Mike set the pillowcase by the door—taking a few candies with him—and sat across from Will with his body turned in his direction. He offered a plain chocolate bar, that he took with a self-conscious smile, their fingers brushing for a moment with outstretched hands. 

The blanket fort stuck out in Mike’s peripheral vision; always there, at the back of his mind. Her presence. 

“It’s like I’m here, in this world, but then in a second I’m not,” Will began to say, the unopened candy bar was set on the table in front of them and his expression clearly pained and vacant, “It’s so cold there, Mike. Like I can feel myself freezing from the inside. And I’m always, _always_ alone.” His hands were clenched in his lap. 

Mike scooted closer, encouraging him to keep talking but unsure how to help; his hands hung uselessly at his sides while he recrossed a bouncing ankle over his knee.

He continued, “Today, I was just standing in the road..and then everything changed. The sky was red, like blood. Thunder pounding so loud there was no way to avoid it. And then,” Will’s voice wavered, Mike watched with confliction at his teary eyes, “This _thing_ filled the sky, with huge black arms and legs.”

“A _Demogorgon_?” 

He shook his head. “Bigger. It filled the entire sky, Mike. And it was looking for me. All I did was stand there. _Always looking_ -“ He choked up on the last sentence, his sides shaking. 

“Hey, It’s okay.” Mike leaned forward and pressed his hands to Will’s, rubbing his knuckles. Tears spilled down his cheeks and dripped into their hands; at the sight of them Will turned his head in shame for crying. 

“D-don’t tell the others, alright?” Will mumbled between sniffles, though Mike didn’t know if he was talking about the episode or their hands held close on Will’s lap. 

“Right, of course,” Mike stammered, eyes scanning the room in restless unfocus, “You know, I get the same way, sometimes. With the memories. Where it feels like I can’t escape it, like I’m going crazy. No matter how long it’s been since.” 

“ _Since El?”_ Will asked with actual interest, but at the weight of his words removed his hands. They hardly talked about Eleven, it was a sensitive topic for Mike; but the fragments of her still remained, no matter the efforts the four did to carry on without her. 

Mike stared at his lap, pulling away tentatively, his eyes on Will; his face, the innocent expression, a front to obscure the anxious, uncertain turn of his lips. 

Quickly Mike looked away with a blush, his gaze landing on the blanket fort again—a habit never forgotten. He could almost imagine Eleven there, cross-legged and inquiring about the handheld radio with a timid hand. He could almost _feel_ her there in the room, she was so tangible in Mike’s mind that remembering her was like being visited by a ghost; a cool draft of air drifted across his arms, raising goosebumps. A barely there whisper in his head, like static, making his heart stutter.

_The swish of fabric as the police drew the curtains back, revealing the empty front yard. Where only Mike knew Eleven had been standing seconds before._  


“You’re not crazy, Mike,” The sound of Will’s proton pack pressing to the couch brought Mike back from the reverie; though the quality of the basement took on an unnerving feeling, a sense of deja vu so strong it was as though Mike had just missed her. 

He returned his attention back to Will with an awkward smile, ignoring the chilling sensation that broke out across his neck. 

“Well, if we both go crazy, we’ll go crazy _together_ , right?” Mike said, not quite knowing what to do, so instead took a bite from the half-eaten Snickers bar on the table then held up his open palm.

Will studied his hand, gaze flickering between it and Mike’s eyes. 

“Right,” He grinned in a despondent way like he always did—the same meekness Mike often noticed during rounds of _Dungeons & Dragons_, when he could have easily won but played it safe so one of the others could continue—and high-fived him. An expression not unlike the many times Will covered for the group, taking the blame for things so no one else got in trouble. This same look in his eyes taking on a new light. 

_One for the team._


	2. The Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same night from Eleven's perspective!!! <3

_“Oreos...Perfect for dunking! Mmm!”_ The TV’s advertisement said, broadcasting the neon blue still frame of a glass of milk. Eleven rolled her eyes, sick of the commercials. 

Eleven scoffed at the clock’s numbers—which were much past the time that Hopper had given her—and went into the kitchen for more waffles. She ignored the telegraph in the living room as she walked past, ignored the way the disappointment had burrowed deep into her stomach while decoding the words: _late._

She fished for the box in the freezer, plopping two Eggos into the toaster she had left on the available counter space earlier in the evening.   
Immediately waves of heat warmed her face as she watched, glowing fiery slits of metal spreading through the icy waffles. Seeing the package resting on the counter made Eleven’s thoughts spiral back to Mike. _Again_. Remembering the first night he’d brought down food for her, in the basement of his home, 353 days ago—she’d been keeping track—and now every time Hopper made them for breakfast Eleven had a difficult time eating without his voice in her head. Without seeing his gentle stare, or the feel of his wet lips rushing in for a kiss. Moments that stayed with her forever on repeat. 

“ _Soon_ ,” she mumbled, tracing the outer edge of the box with a finger. But something began to spur Eleven on: maybe it was the TV’s blare from her bedroom, a reminder of her boredom seeping into the kitchen, the sight of the waffles, or the ruined Halloween night. Why, she thought, couldn’t _soon_ be _now_? At least in some ways? 

The springs shot up, sending the waffles peeking halfway out of the slots; but they were burned. Eleven winced at the smell of char and the thin waft of smoke that drifted out of the toaster toward the ceiling. She smiled to herself as she walked away, thinking Hopper can come home and clean it, after lying to her. Besides, she wasn’t breaking any rules. She wasn’t being _stupid_. 

With a determined sigh of relief she turned from the mess and headed back to her bedroom, kneeling beside the television. Her stomach did little flips in excitement, anticipating another visit. 

She switched it to an unused station, the channel buzzed and the screen crackled with grey peppered light. Once blindfolded, Eleven sat in front of the television and cancelled out all other thoughts but Mike: intermingling the memory of his voice with the static, his face, the basement. She focused on the pull of the television’s waves, a type of energy that tugged on the corners of her mind and fed the endless stream of memories until she could place exactly where _he_ was and open her eyes again.

Eleven stared into the blackness, a void, not quite on either side of the world, that filled every aspect of her being; draining her yet leaving her exhilarated. _Mike._ She searched the expanse of the inky in-between for him. The only sound encouraging her to move forward was the dull throb of an otherworldly power beating at the front of her skull, and the smooth ripple of a dark, viscous matter against her socked feet.

Only a few more steps and Eleven could reach him; like every time she visited him, her heart leapt from her chest and it took everything in her to not tear the blindfold off and rush out the cabin door at the sight of his face. 

But she was expecting to see Mike _alone._ Not find him accompanied by someone else—Will Byers, the brown haired boy who had been trapped in the Upside Down a year before—on the same couch _she_ had sat on so long ago. 

A few steps more and she was standing at the base of the couch, framed in nothingness. The pounding in her head reached a new height, the aftereffect of her abilities; Eleven had to strain to hear their voices even as she stood so close. 

The smaller boy looked shaken, his eyes held a darkness Eleven knew well: when faced with the horrors of the other world her mind was never the same, and everything considered normal or harmless took on a sinister undertone—the exact same one shaded in the eyes of Will in front of her. Thin streaks of tears slid down his face and Eleven stared as Mike leaned closer, comforting him. 

_“Hey, it’s okay,”_ Mike’s voice echoed in the stark field of the in-between as he reached for the boy’s hands. Holding them tightly in his lap, using his fingers to trace patterns of consolation onto his hands, wet with tears. 

_“D-don’t tell the others, alright?”_ Will mumbled _,_ but Eleven could hardly focus on the words with the darkening haze clouding her vision; each incredulous second she took to stare at their hands clasped together made her pulse quicken. She became painfully aware of their closeness, something she only experienced with Mike when riding his bike, or huddled close with the other boys. Simple things; unintentional things.

They didn’t pull apart; Eleven walked further toward Mike as if she could _will_ him to stop. There was a broken look plastered across Mike’s face, like he was hurting _with_ the boy, taking _his_ pain, and it shattered Eleven’s resolve. An expression that took multiple forms but one she could never forget: his careful gaze in the rain, his dark eyes boring into her own from months long gone, a gentle embrace at the cliff side as he held onto her shaking arms.   


The boys were talking but Eleven could not understand them through the anger, the emotion caused the depths of darkness to thicken around her as it settled into something else: the couch began to lose its clarity in her mind and their voices became distorted in the visible mist of black, elements of the Upside Down starting to filter into this in-between state. _Calm down,_ she told herself. 

_“Mike?”_ Eleven reached for him while he stared off into the distance at an object in the basement she was unable to determine. Their hands had separated, but still the temperature dropped as she held out her fingers out to him, the steady flow of tears on her cheeks matching Will’s. The pulse of energy reverberated through her body, she had to return soon—the foggy stillness started to take over and her head swam in violent sheets of pain, every perceptible noise was amplified and left her dazed. 

For a startled moment Mike’s face met hers, even though Eleven knew he could not see her there. He could sense her—she’d seen it happen before, it was in his eyes and in the bristling expression that crossed his face from another dimension. She was careful not to touch Mike, or else risk a break in the connection and have their faces dissipate into the nothing; instead she held her hand toward his neck, resting just above the skin on his cheek. 

_“Hi, Mike,”_ She whispered, her fingers brushing the eerie chill of his silhouette emanating from deep within; the energy from the real world keeping his presence suspended in time for her to see. Mike shivered and looked away, his hand coming up to touch his neck, where her fingers hovered. Their hands brushed, an accidental touch, a jolt of feeling that left Eleven lightheaded; she forgot where she was and what was happening as the couch faded away, the solemn look on Mike’s face burned in her eyes. 

_“No! Please, stay!”_ Eleven threw her arms to him as their bodies turned to nothing, crumbling into the darkness. She found herself screaming his name, tearing off the blindfold; the fabric came back soaked in tears and her fingertips trembled as she held it in her hands. Her tongue traced the salty tang of blood along her upper lip, while the bedroom wobbled and she fell to the carpeted floor with a choked sob. She felt the sting of blood drip down from her nose, the pressure of it sitting stagnant in her eardrums. 

_“C’mon kid, open the door! I’m gonna freeze out here!”_ Eleven was startled by Hopper’s shout from outside and the pounding of his fist against the front door. She looked around, barely able to decipher the murkiness of the room, being so drained. The white outline of a crumpled bedsheet lay on the ground next to her: the ghost costume. Just like a ghost, being next to someone without them seeing. Peering right through Eleven as though she was never there to begin with, she could only hold onto the tortured look Mike gave Will as he held his hands, a conflicted emotion that didn’t take any explanation for her to understand. _Had he moved on? Had he lied?_

A thunderous knock on the door crashed through her head, roaring loud above the headache. Breathing hard, she reached out with her mind, picturing the living room and flipped the deadbolt. Hopper swung the door open with a crash and his loud footfalls carried on inside to escape the wintry air. 

The silence didn’t last long. _“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I lost track of time. Come on in here, I’ve got candy,”_ He explained with a wary sigh that she could hear from her room. 

But she didn’t care about Halloween anymore, or eating so much candy that she got sick. There was a new type of sickness festering in her brain, memories of Mike twisting into horrible ones—every glance her way, each grin, his laugh. Remembering things about him that kept Eleven going all this time, when her heart struck a mournful chord from inside her chest at the mention of his name. Now her efforts seemed useless. 

_“I’m in here eating candy by myself! Probably going to get fat! Have a heart attack!”_

Eleven looked down at her clothes and let out a small cry; dried spots of blood clung to the collar of her flannel and crusted in scarlet beads along her neck. She could only imagine what her face must look like after expending all of her abilities toward the visit, exhausted and bloodied. Her mind began to waver. She trained her eyes on the base of the television, stuck on the same channel that fizzed in her ears as she went unconscious. One thing remained with her: a memory of the tears that poured down Mike’s face the day she saved them from the Monster. That final goodbye evident in his dark eyes, so distraught, her pain matched his own. The same eyes she saw today, for someone else. _Maybe that farewell was better than any reunion she could conjure up, tired of walking among the sidelines of his present life like a ghost._


End file.
